


Endanger it, and the Demand

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Mistletoe, Relationship Advice, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Matron doesn't often make mistakes.





	

Matron had not seemed unduly interested in the Christmas preparations Mary had embarked upon, but Emma and Miss Gibson had been untiring, even relentless, in their efforts and even Miss Alice deigned to string some precious popcorn on a string for the large fir Mary had arranged for the large parlor where the men and boys congregated for recreation, so Mary had not been troubled and had not spoken of it. She knew the men, Jed and Samuel, Henry and Captain McBurney, all thought she was spending too much time trying to make the hospital festive, but she’d failed to be impressed by their investment in the domestic comforts of the men and gave them as pretty a smile as she could muster as they nodded at her or made mild, dissuading remarks. Matron was more circumspect or simply cared less; she sucked on her clay pipe in the evening and went over account books, counted the linen and conferred with Steward and there wasn’t the least hint that any holy day was approaching in her countenance or affect.

Mary was taken aback to find the older woman in the officers’ parlor on one of the short days before Christmas when the sun hardly seemed to rise before it set again, lazy or glowering, working to secure something to the lovely curving archway that beckoned weary physicians in the evening. She stepped closer without speaking and saw a frowsty bit of red silk ribbon tied around a cluster of dull green leaves, a few waxy berries in Matron’s hand and understood at once what Matron intended.

“Where did you get that, Matron?” she asked.

“One of yer doxies gave me the ribbon, calls herself Arabella or Araminta, some nonsense, but she’s a sweet-faced thing and not tight-fisted,” Matron replied, pausing in her endeavor. Mary knew the young woman, hardly more than a girl, Matron meant; she’d confided in Mary her Christian name was Ruth and that she was Tennessee born and bred “though I can’t never go back there, no one to go back to neither.” One of the older women had taken her under her wing and made sure to bring Ruth by every day Mary held a clinic “jes’ so I can be around a lady, that’s you ma’am, so I won’t forget what a lady’s like.” It didn’t surprise Mary that the girl had offered up a scrap of ribbon, likely before Matron had even finished asking. She shook her head a little and let her eyes rest on the nosegay.

“That’s, I beg your pardon, Matron, but that’s not mistletoe,” Mary said. The leaves were not the right shape, too pointed, and the berries were a little too large and shaded toward golden.

“D’ye think Dr. Foster’s so fine a botanist then? Or so particular?” Matron laughed.

“No, I, you mistake me,” Mary began, unexpectedly flustered, the image of Jedediah, his dark eyes intent, his lips parted, a hand at her cheek holding her steady for his kiss and Matron’s knowing laughter at her difficulty, her desire and her morals, her position and his, the uneasy dissolution of his marriage unspoken. “I meant, truly, should you hang it? Is it proper, in a place like this, not a gentleman’s home but the hospital with all sorts coming and going and already such talk about women as nurses, loose women…”

Matron regarded her and Mary was aware she was flushed, unable to entirely relinquish the fantasy Matron had conjured for her, even though she knew it did not suit her, as a widow, the Head Nurse, a ladylike gentlewoman who was the representative of modest Yankee femininity.

“It’s proper enough for the season, I’ll be thinking, with all the other fol-de-rol you’ve taken on here. Don’t take on so, young Mary, it’s human nature ye want to fight and ye can never win that battle,” she said and Mary opened her mouth to say something, to contradict politely but Matron interrupted her, laid a hand on her forearm. “Don’t ye remind me so, I’d a girl like ye and she made worry her bread and meat, broke her heart over it. Don’t suffer so, ye done nothing wrong, ye ain’t made that way, and I can well see ye haven’t let him stray from the beaten path. Not too far, leastaways,” she added and Mary was not sure if that was weighed in her favor in Matron’s obscure accounting.

“It’s Christmas and ye love him, whether ye should or shouldn’t, and he does ye. It’s not so grievous a sin if he should kiss ye under this mistletoe and a little deception never hurt anyone—long as ye don’t deceive yerself. But I know how yer going about it in yer mind, ye need to choose so I’ll let ye decide,” Matron said and put the posy in Mary’s hand, then leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead, the way Mary’s aunt Helen used to do.

“There now, if that’s the only kiss ye have by the mistletoe, least we’ve seen the season right the once. Nan’s likely to come nosing about soon, so ye mustn’t take too long to make yer choice, missy,” Matron said and strode out of the room, shouting down the hall as she walked “There now! What’s all this, I step out for a few minutes and there’s calamity afoot!”

Mary held the bouquet, tied with its frayed ribbon, and thought what she wanted and the risk of having it—and the risk of going without. She thought about the truth and secrets and felt the bittersweet wilt a little in her warm grasp. The silk ribbon was a little stained but she found the loops were neat and the knot sturdy, so very easy to hang, save that her hand trembled and she couldn’t lie to herself, not after what Matron had said, she couldn’t lie to herself about the reason and the remedy.

**Author's Note:**

> This was in response to the prompt (you guessed it): mistletoe. I will say Mary has a point as mistletoe doesn't look much like any other leaf/berry combo I could find that is native to the continental US. Matron has a handful of bitterweet, so we'll have to imagine Jed is very willing to suspend his disbelief if he takes advantage of what's hanging in the parlor.  
> I've brought back Mary's clinic for the camp followers and given Matron a much-loved daughter because I like my Christmas stories with a dose of darkness it seems.
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
